


company secrets

by stubborn_jerk



Series: corporate romance [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Awkward Flirting, Car Crash Metaphor, Children as Wingmen, Fluff and Humor, Footnotes, M/M, Magic Tricks, Office Party, Swimming Pools, the office rivalry romcom AU nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubborn_jerk/pseuds/stubborn_jerk
Summary: The company outing was the last place Crowley thought he would encounter shite-level sleight-of-hand party tricks, but here he was.It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, on the 4k smart telly while he ate ice cream out of the tub in only his underwear because it was a Saturday afternoon and his Grindr date left the flat like thirty minutes ago after using up all the hot water and stealing a bit of his banana bread.…That metaphor got ahead of him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Crowley & Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Series: corporate romance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601995
Comments: 16
Kudos: 149
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner





	company secrets

The company outing was the last place Crowley thought he would encounter shite-level sleight-of-hand party tricks, but here he was. 

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, on the 4k smart telly while he ate ice cream out of the tub in only his underwear because it was a Saturday afternoon and his Grindr date left the flat like thirty minutes ago after using up all the hot water and stealing a bit of his banana bread.

…That metaphor got ahead of him. 

His point was…

The large blond fellow in all the creams, beiges, and khakis made a fake gasp-y sound for dramatic effect as he fumbled a bit with the deck of cards in hand. Adam, his godson, did well to nod accordingly.

Ah, right, Crowley’s point was that it was tragically beautiful while also, objectively, death-by-second-hand-embarrassment-inducing. 

Crowley _hated_ that he loved every single excruciating detail of it because he’d seen _good_ magic and this was not it, but it was also very entertaining and he wasn’t even a single sheet in the wind yet. He was barely flapping, with the cheap bottle of red going around.

“Pick a card,” the unfortunately charming bloke said with all the flourish of an amateur’s apprentice. “Any card, young lad!”

“I can’t take watching this,” Crowley muttered, feeling entirely too sober as Adam, ever-so-polite, picked a card from the deck.

“Don’t show it to me now!”

“’Course, he won’t.”

A jingling slap landed on his arm. “Oh, stop watching and let the chap do his thing, if it’s so unbearable. We can’t all be awkward at this outing. It’s just getting to the good part as well,” Tracy* admonished, swirling her wine glass even though everyone in the company knew it was just Welch’s.

[*Not Marjorie Potts’ real name but she lets everyone call her Tracy anyway, long story, won’t go into it now.]

Crowley could not stop watching.

“Is he from…?” He fumbled to scan the list of departments he wasn’t dealing with. “HR*? Don’t think I’ve seen him around.”

[*He said the ‘H’ in HR like “haytch,” and it is important that you know this.]

“Oh, he’s not ours,” Tracy replied, shaking her head as punctuation. “Different company, I think. Charming man like that won’t last a day with us.”

Truer words have never been said.

Said charming man dropped two cards into the pool. Crowley took a large gulp of his wine. “Really?”

“What you guys talkin’ ‘bout?” 

Anathema* trotted up with what looked like a champagne flute but smelled terribly like Kraft beer**. Crowley did not resist his sneer at the stench and Anathema did not resist stepping on his snakeskin shoes with her muddy Doc Martens.

[*Good girl, unfortunate family name. Crowley loved her to bits and hated showing it, so they watched an episode of Gilmore Girls every Wednesday in his flat, on his 4k telly.

**Oh, how Crowley _hated_ that he loved her.]

Tracy had less pettiness, but did not have the tact to resist saying, “Getting more American by the evening, dearie?”

Anathema raised her glass to that. “Moving to whatever constitutes as rum after this one, progressively shifting to Spanish, then picking whoever’s unfortunate enough to drag into bed.”

Crowley raised his glass to that, despite still staring at the disaster by the pool and his godson.

“So, what’s the scoop?”

Crowley took another fortifying swig and gestured vaguely towards their topic of interest. “White guy doing the party tricks by the pool. What company’s he from?”

“Oh, you guys haven’t heard?” she asked, knowing full well neither Crowley nor Tracy cared for company gossip and were just at the outing for the booze. Without pausing for reactions, she pushed on, “We’re sharing the venue with Goode Investments.”

Both Tracy and Crowley’s brows raised to their hairlines*.

[*Crowley’s hairline was still very low, fortunately. Hate the man but his mother’s father was _blessed_ with a head and body full of it. Trimming it down was a chore, though.]

“Goode?”

“Oh, dear. That’s—”

“Gabriel Goode and the whole entourage are here, yeah,” groused Anathema.

All three of them raised a glass to that. This one was for Dagon, the unfortunate old chap. They’d have to deal with Beelzebub* all evening. Despite knowing this, and despite Anathema being in the Management Department with Beelzebub and Dagon, none of them made a move to try and help.

[*Not their real name. This, unfortunately, is not a long story. Summarized only by an open window, leftover Indian takeout, and maggots nesting in their office.]

Competitive office shite* was above their paygrades.

[*To provide context, Goode Investments and E Insurances were, to be concise, not rival insurance firms. Crowley was part of E’s Legal Department, and they often insured politicians and middle- to upper middle- class citizens and bigwig companies. 

Goode Investments was, well, _good._ They helped fund NGO’s and grassroot movements internationally.

See where this is going?

The rumours were, ones that Crowley often heard from old bags in Legal like Ligur** say that E and Goode started from the same company an _insanely_ long time ago.***

**Not his real name, longer story.

***Forty years ago, to be precise.]

Crowley hummed as the fellow made a few swipes at his deck, catching Adam’s eye. “So, for some reason, my godson’s been taken hostage by some Goode goon.”

“Ohoho, good one,” Tracy giggled.

“Who?”

“Adam, Arthur’s child,” Tracy explained.

Disgust and bafflement rang in Anathema’s voice, “Arthur from Tech _made_ that little angel?”

Crowley snorted, both at the jab at Arthur from Tech _and_ his godson’s apparent morality. Adam did not attempt to disprove this amusement with the sudden glint in his eye as he dropped his card from behind, kicking it over.

Crowley caught the card with his shoe. He made to take another swig of his cheap red but found it unsatisfyingly empty. He scowled down at his very empty glass, willing it to fill up, or at least taste like better wine.

“No, dearie, this is Arthur from Accounting’s son.”

“Arthur Young trusted _you_ with a child?”

That snapped Crowley out from his attempts at miracles. “Hey, I am plenty capable around children, Miss _Occultist*_.”

[*She was a Wiccan and all three of them knew, but Crowley was the only one who made fun of her for it. To everyone else, she was agnostic.]

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Crowley thrusted his wine glass at her, then bent down to grab the card. “Watch this. Hold that, I’ll be back.”

“Am I getting paid for this?”

“You can have my comfy socks next Wednesday, how ‘bout that?”

“Deal!”

Crowley sauntered up to the fledgling magician and his godson, clearing his throat to muster up enough emotion. Sheepishly and hurriedly, he intervened before the crash crumpled the car beyond repair, “’Scuse me, is he bothering you? I’m so sorry for him. Adam, let the nice man go.”

Adam sportingly whined, “But, _Mr. Crowley_ —”

“Oh, please!” the fellow cut in, voice high and accent posh. The creams, beiges, and khakis made much more sense now. As did the irresistible little pudge around his middle. “I was just about to show him my last trick. I assure you, he’s been nothing but cherubic in the last two minutes.”

“Ten,” muttered Adam, once more debunking these conspiracies about his angelic countenance.

Crowley elbowed him lightly, the card and one hand in his back pocket, a poor imitation of a hand on his hip. “Oh, excuse me then. Do go on, I’ll just...”

“No, you can stay and watch,” he smiled, hands covering both sides of the deck. 

Crowley shrugged, giving Adam a light hip check.

“Now, young Adam. Was your card… the seven of spades?” At this, he lifted his hand to show the card that was very much a two of diamonds.

“That’s a two, Mr. Fell.”

“What?” Mr. Fell flipped the card to see it, then made a confused noise that made Crowley want to shout into a pillow. “Well, that’s impossible! I could have sworn it was a seven of spades.”

“Oh, it was, Mr. Fell, I think it’s just in the deck!”

Crowley made a curious noise, thrilling in the dramatics of it. “A seven of spades, you say?”

“Yeah!”

Mr. Fell nodded vigorously.

Crowley pulled his hand out of his pocket. “Oh, you mean this!”

Mr. Fell let out an audible gasp. Adam barely stifled his cackle.

Mr. Fell graciously accepted his card back onto the deck, holding it out in front of him like it was the golden ticket to Mr. Wonka’s Factory. “Good Lord, how—?”

Crowley smirked, “A magician _never_ reveals his secrets, eh, Adam?”

Adam nodded just as vigorously as Fell had.

“Alright, now, scram. I think Jeremy’s looking for you with Dog.”

Adam scrunched his nose up. This was an age-old argument between them. Around five years old, to be precise. “His name’s Wensleydale!”

“It _is_ also Jere—oh, go ask him, you little bugger.”

Adam ran off with one final little cackle, then jumped off the deep end of the pool like he wasn’t supposed to, written very clearly on the sign he jumped right in front of.

“I saw that, you know.”

Crowley blinked, then turned back to Fell. “Pardon?”

Fell was staring off to where Adam and his friends were playing, shuffling the cards like a nervous tick. “When he slipped you that card. I saw it and played along.”

Crowley raised a brow with interest, circling ‘round him, hands on his back*. “Didn’t seem the type. Don’t suppose it’s unethical for magicians to, er, let kids know how card tricks work? I mean, what’s so wrong about it? It’s the truth, right?”

[*Old courtroom habits die hard?]

“You’re from the Legal Department, aren’t you?”

Crowley threw his hands up in a surrendering motion, stopping right at Aziraphale’s other side, closer to the pool. “Red-handed, right here.”

“Hm,” Fell intoned, his lips set in a very prim line*. “It’s not unethical, per se. But it’s good to let kids have a little bit of magic in their life, growing up.”

[*Not that Crowley was paying Fell’s lips any special attention, mind.**

**He was.]

It was such a Goode catchphrase it made Crowley want to gag. “You from Marketing?”

“Security, actually.”

Crowley couldn’t reign in the impressed look on his face as he glanced down at Fell, at the snug jacket arms and pant legs. “Hm,” he intoned back.

“Oh, but I’m worried.”

“Yeah?”

Fell finally deigned that a good enough time to look him straight in the eye, genuine concern very evident in his eyes. Crowley nearly didn’t catch what his next words were. “Magic is practically lying. I don’t want to teach him that it’s good to lie even if it’s just for fun like that.”

Oh, good Lord, this man could not get any more irresistible. Crowley was absolutely gagging with it. Inwardly. Not at all sexually*.

[*Okay, maybe a _little_ sexually.]

Sarcastically, he replied, “Aw, you’re an angel. And he’s eleven! Adam knows what’s up, or else I’m a shite godparent.”

“I hope you’re right… Oh, where are my manners!” Fell pocketed his deck with a swipe smoother than Crowley had seen from a few feet away and wiped his hands on his coat in one fell (heh) swoop. “I’m Aziraphale,” he held his hand out. “Goode Investments, Security Team.”

Of _course_ Goode would call it _teams_.

Crowley gripped his hand and shook. Aziraphale’s hands were soft, for someone on the Security Team, and he couldn’t help but hate that he noticed it. “Anthony J. Crowley. E Insurance Legal Department.”

They fell into a comfortable lull, before either realised that they had to let go of each other’s hands, then tried very hard not to let it show that either of them had noticed.*

[*Anathema had, by now, left Tracy’s admittedly great view of this embarrassing interaction happen, citing that she needed the rum post-haste.]

Crowley sighed. “So… Mr. Fell?”

“Oh, I figured it would be easier for young Adam to say, poor lad,” Aziraphale threw a quick glance back at the children. “I know my name is quite the mouthful. Unfortunate family name, you see.”

“Then… Just, Aziraphale?”

“Erm, uh…” Aziraphale mumbled something under his breath that Crowley had to lean in to catch.

“Sorry, what was that?”

A little louder, he said, “Aziraphale… Goode…?”

Crowley took a step aside to back out of his space. 

This, of course, was a miscalculation on his part because by then, there was no floor to step back on, only pool. So, he teetered over the edge, then blinked as the world turned around him, gravity pulling him every which way.

“Oh! Anthony—!”

Water. Chlorine. Everywhere, up his nose, in his eyes. Oh, God, in his _hair_ , took him ages to get that into shape for this evening.

He was pulled back up, squinting and coughing. There was Adam cackling with his friends, Dog barking, Anathema definitely howling in laughter, and Hastur chortling in some dark, damp corner of the resort proper.

He was coughing, and someone else was coughing with him.

“My dear, are you alright?” came Aziraphale Goode’s voice. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this man was one of Gabriel Goode*’s siblings. “I am so terribly sorry for shocking you so near the pool, oh, I, erm. Sir, can I please get a few towels, thank you. Oh, your clothes. Your glasses!”

[*A little thing about the Goode siblings: Goode Investments was, for all intents and purposes, a family business. Luci Elle née Goode had started it with an aunt that Crowley didn’t care to look up. Auntie Goode had then passed it onto her children and seven of her friends’ children. 

Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel were three of her most prominent and more famous children. Aziraphale, who Crowley only just now met, was allegedly another one.]

Then, another giant splash.

Crowley reached up to wipe the stinging chlorine out of his eyes, squinting, eyes opening just enough to see Aziraphale pull himself out of the pool in his creams, beiges, and khakis, drenched in pool water clutching with his sunglasses. 

Cards were floating on the pool water now.

Aziraphale looked terribly apologetic and sounded like it. “Here, er, terribly sorry, again.”

A heated towel was handed to him, then he could hear Tracy fussing with someone with the towels, probably.

Aziraphale crouched down beside him. “Oh, are you alright, Anthony—oh, sh—my manners. Can I call you that? Oh, I am messing this up, aren’t I?”

Crowley realized that for Aziraphale to stop apologizing, he had to speak, so he said, “A-Anthony’s just fine, and thank you.”

“Here.” Aziraphale had the good graces to slip Crowley’s glasses back onto his face with warm, manicured fingers. (Crowley could see them, up close, glittery topcoat. Really? Security Team? This man?) “Is that better? Oh, I should bring you to your room, get you out of those clothes!”

The idiot that he is, Crowley fumbled and said, “Take me to dinner first, Mr. Fell.”

In the matter of ten seconds, Aziraphale went through a series of expressions, one more endearing than the other: shock, just pink, confusion, baffled blinking, before settling on pinker. 

And Crowley would have flirted _better*_ if he had enough mental energy to move on from the fact that Aziraphale pulled him out of the pool and went back in for his fucking sunglasses. It was eight in the evening in England, they were freezing despite the pool’s warm waters, and they weren’t even dressed for the pool, for Christ’s sake.

[*False.]

“Er…”

“Sorry, that just slipped out.” Oh, Crowley was botching this patch up as he watched Aziraphale go through another series of expressions. 

Was this man straight? 

Crowley’s mind was at war with itself. A man with that cadence and nail job was not straight, but self-care should not be frowned upon on men around their age and should be praised. 

Fuck it. 

Only way out was through. 

He shivered something dreadful as a breeze blew past them, but only noticed it after Aziraphale did as well. “But, I mean, the wine here is fucking awful and I _would_ like me to get out of these clothes as much as you do, I think.”

Aziraphale went pink again, so maybe he wasn’t as cold as Crowley was. “Y-yes. I mean! To uh, dinner but, dear, please let’s get out of these clothes first. N-not in—”

Crowley laughed. “Yeah, I get it. Right. I’ll uh.”

Tracy took this moment to haul Crowley’s bony, wet arse off the floor. “Right, let’s get you two somewhere without an audience. You’ve done a great job, Crowley dear, reeled that in without even getting slightly tipsy, jolly good.”

Tracy pushed them back into the hotel where it was blissfully heated, away from the English winds. Aziraphale kept sending him glances, though if apologetic or bemused, Crowley didn’t know. He just knew that he just asked a Goode sibling out on a company outing after rightfully humiliating himself.

“My, er, room’s this way,” Aziraphale said, pointing down the hall to their right.

“Mine’s the other way.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, jamming his other hand into chilly pockets. “So, er…”

“Right, meet up at the lobby?”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale nodded back.

They were both grinning like idiots.

“That’s tickety-boo, then!” 

Exit Aziraphale, who is a bear.

Probably. Hopefully.

Oh, what the _hell_ was Crowley thinking? He knew what it may seem to Aziraphale. He found out that the guy was a Goode sibling, overreacted, then just went directly to asking him out to dinner _then_ to bed. 

Crowley _was_ actually being genuine in his intentions, Aziraphale seemed like, well. 

Well.

He wasn’t really Crowley’s type*, if he was being perfectly honest. Aziraphale Goode was a nice, kind-hearted man, who was observant and terribly clever. It left Crowley feeling whiplashed and terribly like the crash test dummy in that slow motion car crash.

[*Crowley was known for having no type and shit taste in bed partners, according to Tracy and Anathema respectively.]

“Tickety…” He watched Aziraphale walk away and did not think to move until he heard a door click shut.

“Well,” he said to himself. “That was a thing.”

He hoped that Aziraphale didn’t see this as a ploy to get company secrets. Being on the E’s Legal Department did _not_ help.

Crowley sauntered on over to E’s side of the hotel for the night.

He just had to prove himself, then. 

He did like a challenge.

**Author's Note:**

> -[tumblr](http://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com)\- -[twitter](http://twitter.com/stubborn_jerk)-
> 
> saw a tumblr post about someone tricking a magician into thinking they pulled the card out of the deck from all the way over there like crowley did here but i lost it and all hopes that i could find it
> 
> but anyway, this lil plot bunny's been in my notes for the _longest_ time and i took my chance in the middle of class earlier because none of the profs were doing a very good job at keeping my attention. hope you enjoyed it! comments are always appreciated!
> 
> so, how are your new years so far?


End file.
